


No Reason to Worry

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:03:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Porthos a moment to realize that Aramis is tracing over the scars beneath the layers of clothes and metal.  (Coda fic for 3x10)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Reason to Worry

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "Aramis fussing he once again won't be able to sew Porthos's wounds when he returns to the front as General"

“Aramis,” Porthos says – sighing out, yet again – for what feels like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, “I’ll be _fine_.”

Aramis doesn’t respond, too busy fusing. Porthos watches as Aramis fiddles with the clasp of his uniform, straightens his collar, and otherwise fusses. “I just…” Aramis starts, stops, and looks down at his hands against the fleur-de-lis across Porthos’ chest. “I want you to stay safe. You know that, right?” 

“Of course,” Porthos says, brow furrowing. “I never doubt that.” 

“And you’ll come back,” Aramis says, decisive – for Porthos’ sake or his own, Porthos isn’t sure. “You have to.”

“I will,” Porthos agrees, calm and gentle – like trying to soothe a spooked horse. He knows Aramis would dislike that comparison. He lifts his hands, cupping Aramis’ shoulders. “I’m not killed so easily, remember?”

Aramis gives him a wavering smile and nods. Then ducks his head and tuts, running his fingers over Porthos’ armor in odd patterns. 

It takes Porthos a moment to realize that Aramis is tracing over the scars beneath the layers of clothes and metal. 

“Someone else will have to sew you up again,” Aramis says, sounding slightly sour. He’s scrutinized Porthos’ newer scars with such derision, criticizing both the needlework and the shape of the scars. It’d only gotten worse when Aramis learned it was d’Artagnan who had usually sewed him up on the front. Porthos had walked in on a very heated lecture between the two of them a day after that revelation. Criticism of the sewer but not the sewed – despite all the criticisms, Aramis always says that Porthos is beautiful. 

“I’ll be fine,” Porthos tells him, again. 

“Just to be sure,” Aramis answers. “Don’t get hurt enough you’ll need someone to sew you up. You know I’m the best.”

“You always were,” Porthos agrees, gently. Glad that he can say it gently – that the thought doesn’t ring sour like it might have even half a year ago.

Aramis is quiet for a moment, pressing his lips together. He swallows. Then sighs. Then he looks up at him and leans in – kissing Porthos. Tender. Gentle. 

When they part, there’s something softer between the two of them. Aramis presses his forehead to his. 

“Come back safe,” Aramis whispers. 

“I promise,” Porthos answers.


End file.
